


Sick Day

by AutisticWriter



Category: The Goodies (TV)
Genre: Bisexuality, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Doctors & Physicians, Fluff and Angst, Forehead Kisses, Friendship, Homophobia, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, One Shot, Period-Typical Homophobia, Phone Calls & Telephones, Sharing a Bed, Sickfic, Swearing, Tonsillitis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 22:45:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7126204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutisticWriter/pseuds/AutisticWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Tim gets ill, Bill is left to look after him, and Graeme, separated from the others, has issues of his own to deal with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sick Day

Tim was ill, he didn’t need a doctor to know that. But he did need a doctor – more specifically, _his_ doctor – to try and help him feel better. But his doctor wasn’t here, so he was stuffed. And that made him want to cry.

He winced and rolled over him bed, wrapping the sheets tightly around himself to try and stop himself shivering, but it didn’t seem to be working. He wished Graeme was here, but he’d gone off to visit his mother, leaving him alone with Bill. Not that he disliked Bill, but he just wasn’t Gray.

His throat was really beginning to ache, and he was sure his temperature was going up. His cheeks had looked flushed when he’d looked in the mirror, and were hot when he touched them with the backs of his fingers, even though he felt so cold that he couldn’t stop shivering. He was probably coming down with the flu or something like that, but he wished Graeme could diagnose him, just so he knew for sure that it wasn’t something more serious.

“Aren’t you getting up, Timbo?” Bill said, poking his head into the bedroom.

It was strange, when Tim thought about it, that the three of them still shared a bedroom, but it didn’t matter, because he and Graeme didn’t do anything that, um, meant they needed to have a room to themselves, at least, not yet. Tim wasn’t sure he was ready for that sort of relationship yet.

He forced his heavy head off of the pillow and looked at the shorter man. He was still wearing his disgusting nightshirt, but, judging by the time on the clock, he must have been up for hours.

“Nah, don’t really feel like it today,” he said, trying to smile.

Luckily, Bill smiled too. “Just fancy a lazy day, then, eh?”

Tim nodded, instantly regretting it as it made his head pound. “Yes, I do a bit.”

“Can’t say I blame you,” Bill winked and left him alone, and Tim let his head flop back onto the pillow.

He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around his chest, wishing that Graeme was here to make him feel better.

* * *

 

Sometime later, Bill poked his head into the bedroom, and found Tim asleep. His friend didn’t look right, his cheeks looking oddly flushed, but he didn’t have the first clue about what might be wrong with him. He sighed and went out into the living area, wondering why the only bloody doctor he knew had to have gone and visited his bloody mother.

But it was probably nothing.

At least, he hoped it was.

* * *

 

“Hello, darling, it’s lovely to see you,” Mrs Garden said, holding her arms out wide. Graeme stooped down and let her give him a hug, trying to ignore the feeling of dread about what he was certain she was about to say next.

“Hello, Mum.”

“It’s been too long, darling.” She said, and Graeme smiled awkwardly.

“I know, Mum.”

“You said you’d come last month, but you never did.”

“I know, Mum. I’m sorry about that.”

“You look so skinny, dear, you never eat enough, that’s your problem. You need feeding up.”

“I know, Mum.”

“Have you got a girlfriend, yet?”

Graeme groaned and turned his head away, trying not to grimace as she said the words he’d been waiting for. “No, Mum.”

She sighed and folded her arms across her chest. “Are you still living with those two awful men?”

“They’re not awful, Mum,” Graeme said, offended. “They’re my best friends.” _Or, in the case of Tim_ , he added in his head, _my partner, but there is no way I’m telling you that._

“But don’t you want to settle down and have a family? You’re thirty two now.”

Graeme tried his hardest to not sigh. “No, Mum, I’m fine how I am. Really.”

* * *

 

Tim woke up in the middle of the night to severe pain in his throat. Instantly, his eyes filled with tears and he whimpered, not knowing what was wrong, but knowing it was complete agony. He started shivering again and wrapped his blankets tighter around himself, wondering why he was so cold. It was the middle of the summer, and, because Bill was always cold, the heating should have been up anyway, so why was he so cold?

Tim rolled over and reached out for Graeme, hoping to wake him up and get some sympathy, but all his hand found was cold sheets. It was then he remembered that Graeme wasn’t here, and the tears spilled over. He wanted Graeme. He needed him.

Sobs started catching in his sore throat, and that only made him cry harder, because it hurt so much. He couldn’t think of a time when something had hurt this badly, and he immediately began to wonder if he was dying. Stupid hypochondria.

“Tim?” He heard rustling, and saw Bill’s silhouetted figure move so he was sitting up in bed. “What’s that noise?”

Tim lay as still as he could, hoping Bill might think he was asleep, but he couldn’t stop crying. He was never very good at holding back tears at the best of times, let alone when he felt so dreadful.

“What’s the matter?”

He heard footsteps and then the light was switched on, and he pulled the sheets up over his head so Bill couldn’t see he was crying. He hated crying in front of his friends; it made him feel like a wimp.

“Tim?” Bill crossed the room and stopped beside his bed. Tim clamped his hand over his mouth to muffle his sobs, but it was too late. “Tim, are you crying?”

“No,” he said, but his voice came out all squeaky, and he groaned.

“You are crying, aren’t you?”

“Am not,” Tim muttered childishly, even though his voice was still shaking and talking made his sore throat hurt even more.

“Are too,” Bill said softly, and Tim knew he was smiling without looking at him.

When Bill pulled the sheet down, Tim didn’t bother to resist, and then his face was exposed and he was staring straight at Bill. Bill’s eyes widened when he saw him.

“Bloody hell, you look dreadful,” he said.

“I feel it too,” Tim moaned. The tears were still falling, but he didn’t feel as upset anymore.

Bill sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at him. He reached out and touched Tim’s cheek, and Tim flinched away from the freezing cold and oddly intimate touch.

“Don’t do that.”

“Sorry,” Bill said. “But you’re really hot, you know.”

Tim let his teeth chatter together, exaggerating the problem to make it look even more obvious. “No I’m not, I’m blooming freezing. What the hell do you mean?”

Bill frowned, but he didn’t look cross. “Timbo, you’ve got a fever. Your cheeks are all red and really hot. There’s no way you can be cold.”

“But then why am I shivering?” He muttered, wiping at his eyes.

“Because you’re not very well.”

“Bill,” he said, his voice squeaking again. “What’s wrong with me?”

“I don’t know, mate.”

Bill smiled weakly and pulled him into a hug, leaning Tim’s head against his shoulder and patting the back of his neck, just as he had done that time they were being bullied by a policeman and Tim kept bursting into tears. Bill had been so kind to him then, and he was again now. Tim leaned into the hug, finding himself fighting back tears all over again.

“I feel awful, Bill,” he sobbed into his friend’s shoulder.

“I know, mate.”

“My throat really hurts.” He pulled away from Bill and gently prodded at his neck, wincing at the pain it caused in his already throbbing, burning throat.

“Can I have a feel?” Bill asked.

Tim looked at him warily. “If you want.”

Tim braced himself, but he still flinched when Bill put his hands on the side of his neck, just below his jaw, his fingers feeling so cold that Tim’s shivering suddenly got a lot worse. He pressed his fingers lightly against his neck, causing a huge jolt of pain to shoot through his jaw. He whimpered, and more tears dribbled down his cheeks.

“Ruddy hell,” he whined.

“I see what you mean,” Bill said, letting go. “Something in your neck’s all swollen. No wonder it hurts. You poor thing.”

“Bill, I’m scared,” Tim said, feeling his bottom lip wobble.

Bill hugged him again, sighing. “I know, mate, but you’ll be all right. If you still feel like this in the morning, I’ll call Graybags and he can tell us what to do. Is that all right?”

It wasn’t really, but Tim still nodded slightly, trying to smile. “I guess so.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Bill rubbing his back as he continued to cry.

“Bill?”

“Hmm?”

“I miss Graeme.”

“So do I, mate,” Bill said, sighing. “So do I.”

* * *

 

Tim was in so much pain that he couldn’t sleep, and that meant Bill couldn’t sleep either. He ignored the awkwardness that he would normally feel in this situation, and got into Tim and Graeme’s double bed, helping Tim to sit propped up against the pillows and letting him lean against him. It was an oddly intimate position to be in, but Tim didn’t seem to care, and Bill tried to not care either.

It was only half past four in the morning, but it was still dark outside, so they had to switch the light on as they sat up in bed. Tim rested his head on Bill’s shoulder, pulling the blankets tightly around himself as he continued to shiver, and Bill put his arm around him.

It was at times like this that Bill wished the telly didn’t sign off at night, just so they would have something to do. He hated reading, but he resorted to reading Tim one of Graeme’s books, even though it was so boring and reading something of Graeme’s made Tim start crying again. They gave up reading anything of Graeme’s after that.

The hours dragged by, but they didn’t get a wink of sleep. Tim didn’t seem to be able to stop crying, even to the point when it made him feel sick. At one point, Tim got so hot that Bill really started to worry, and he had to take his temperature. It was only slightly reassuring to learn that his temperature was a reasonably low thirty one point five degrees Celsius. It didn’t seem to reassure Tim at all, and Bill just wished the morning would come so he phone Graeme and fine out how he could make Tim feel better.

* * *

 

By eight o’clock in the morning, when Bill was suitably exhausted and Tim was still crying from the pain, he decided that it was late enough to try and telephone Graeme. He hoped that he wouldn’t be disturbing Graeme’s family, and, more than that, he hoped that Graeme would know what was wrong with Tim. This was really starting to scare him.

Once he had found what he hoped was the right number in Tim’s address book, Bill punched the numbers into the telephone, watching Tim over his shoulder in case his friend suddenly got worse. It took far too long, but, eventually, someone answered the phone.

“Hello?” A woman said, sounding irritated and put out.

“Hello, is that Mrs Garden?”

“Yes. What do you want? I was in the middle of cooking breakfast, you know.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” Bill said, surprised to find her as grumpy as she was sounding. He had expected Graeme’s mum to be much kinder, for some reason. “Uh, can I speak to Graeme, please?”

“He’s busy right now. Who’s calling?”

Bill sighed. “My name’s Bill. I’m Graeme’s flatmate. Look, I’m sorry, but this is really important.”

“All right, all right, keep your hair on.”

“I need to talk to him about something, um, medical. It’s important.”

He heard her sigh. “Gray’s in the shower, dear. I suppose I could get him if it’s really that urgent.”

“It is, really. Just tell him his . . .” He cut himself off just in time, remembering that Graeme’s mother didn’t know about him and Tim, and managed to change what he was about to say. “. . . his, I mean our friend is really ill and I need his advice.”

“All right,” she sighed heavily. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Thank you,” Bill said, turning around and smiling at Tim, who gave him a tearful grin in reply.

About a minute later, he heard Graeme’s voice, and he felt a rush of relief. “What’s the matter, Bill? Mum said there was something wrong.”

“Tim’s poorly.”

“What? What’s wrong with him?” Gray asked, and Bill could hear the panic in his voice even though he was clearly trying to stay calm.

“His temperature’s really high and his throat hurts really badly. It’s making him cry.”

“You didn’t have to tell him that!” Tim called, sounding humiliated, his voice wobbling.

“The poor thing.” Gray said. “When did it start?”

“Sometime yesterday, but it got really bad in the night. We’ve both been up since four; Tim’s in too much pain to sleep.”

“Bloody hell,” Graeme said, and Bill heard his voice waver. “Did you take his temperature?”

Bill looked down at the thermometer that he was somehow still holding, and nodded his head. “Yeah. It was thirty nine point one.”

He heard him sigh. “Well, that’s not as bad as I’d feared. Have you taken his blankets off of him?”

“No, he says he’s cold.”

“Well, I know it sounds harsh, but you need to take them off of him so he can cool down. That’s probably part of the reason why his fever keeps going up.”

“All right,” Bill said, slightly concerned by the implication that, by trying to help Tim, he could have actually been making him worse, and he turned around again. “Hey, Timbo, Gray says you need to take your blankets off.”

“But I’m cold,” Tim moaned, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

“I know, mate, but Gray says it’ll help get your temperature down.”

Tim didn’t look happy about it, but he pushed his duvet and fleecy blanket off of the bed, and immediately began to shiver, wrapping his arms around his chest. Bill felt awful, but he knew he needed to do it.

“Have you done it?”

“I’m c-cold,” Tim whined, his voice wobbling as his teeth began to chatter, his jaw visibly jerking up and down.

Bill turned away so he couldn’t see Tim. “Yeah, we have.”

“Thank you, that’s great. All right, Bill, I need you to do something else for me. Can you get a torch and shine it down Tim’s throat?”

“What?” Bill said, wondering if Gray was losing the plot.

“Just do it,” Graeme said, a bit snippily, before adding, with a sigh, “Please.”

Bill sighed too, but tucked the phone against his chin and his shoulder and began rummaging through the messy drawers beside him. “Where is the torch, exactly? I can’t ever find anything in this bloody flat.”

“I’m cold, Bill!” Tim called.

“There should be one on top of my computer from when I was using it last week,” Graeme said.

“Bill, I w-want my b-blankets back!”

Bill rested the handset on the table and rushed across the room to Graeme’s computer, but there was no torch to be seen. Sighing, he went back to the phone, catching a glimpse of Tim as he went past the bedroom door. Tim was leaning down over the side of the bed, clearly trying to get his blankets back.

“Tim, don’t do that,” Bill said, sighing wearily. He went into the room, picked up the blankets, and took them with him, dumping them onto the floor by the phone.

“Please give them b-back.”

“No,” He picked up the phone again, trying to ignore the increasing feeling of irritation welling up inside of him. “Nope. It’s not there."

“Bloody hell. Hang on, it might be in the bathroom – don’t ask why.”

“Fine, I’ll look in—”

“Bill!”

“WHAT!?” Bill screamed, spinning around so sharply that he almost overbalanced.

He instantly regretted snapping when he saw Tim recoil away from him, his eyes filling with tears.

“What the hell are you yelling about?” Graeme said, suddenly sounding outranged.

“I’m sorry, I d-didn’t mean to an-annoy you,” Tim sobbed, scrubbing at his eyes as tears dribbled down his cheeks.

“Were you just shouting at Tim?”

Bill sighed. “Yeah, I was. I’m sorry, Tim!” He called, without taking the phone from his face, so Graeme could hear him.

“That’s better,” Graeme sighed too. “Right, now I know it sounds weird, but I need you to go and do the torch thing for me. Just shine it into his mouth, take a look at his throat, and then describe it to me.”

“All right,” Bill sighed shakily, still reeling from his angry outburst. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Bill rested the handset on the table and rushed back over to Tim, who flinched away from him. He sighed again, and extended an apologetic hand towards Tim. Tim smiled weakly, but he didn’t look like he fully forgave him for shouting.

“Can you open your mouth and stick your tongue out, Timbo?” Bill asked, sitting down on the edge of Tim’s bed and switching the torch on.

Tim wiped his running nose on his sleeve, staring at him with a puzzled look on his face. “Why?”

“Graybags said so,” he said. “He wants me to look at your throat.”

Tim still looked confused, but he obediently opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out. Bill tipped his head back slightly, and shone the beam of light into his friend’s mouth. He squinted and adjusted the torch, but finally got it in the right place, allowing him to see the back of Tim’s throat. On both sides of his throat were two red, swollen lumps that looked incredibly painful, especially when he noticed that they were speckled with large white spots. Grimacing, he switched the torch off and jumped to his feet.

“All done, Timbo,” he said, and Tim closed his mouth, rubbing his jaw.

“That was weird,” he muttered.

Bill rushed through the office and picked up the phone again. “I’ve done it.”

“That’s good,” Gray said. “Did you get a look at his tonsils? They’re the lumps sticking out of the sides of the throat.”

“Yeah, they were all swollen and had these white spots on them,” Bill said, shuddering.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Graeme said, and Bill could have sworn that he sounded relieved.

“What’s wrong with him, Gray?”

“He’s got tonsillitis, Bill. He needs antibiotics.”

“Tonsillitis?”

“Inflammation of the tonsils.” Graeme said, professional again.

Bill nodded his head in understanding, even though he knew Graeme couldn’t see him. “Sounds nasty.”

“It is,” Graeme said.

“So what are the white spots, exactly?”

“Pus.”

Bill grimaced, feeling a bit sick. “Bloody hell. No wonder his throat hurts.”

“Yes, it’s known to be very painful, but not usually dangerous in any way. If you take him up to the doctors’ later, they’ll give him antibiotics and he should start feeling better pretty soon.”

Bill smiled. “That’s good, I’m really glad.”

“Me too, Bill, me too.” Graeme said slowly, the relief audible in his voice. “Would it be all right if I could speak to Tim?”

“Of course it would.”

“I’ve done some . . . um . . . tampering to the phone, so you should be able to pick it up and take it with you.”

“Really?” Bill stared at the phone; it looked exactly the same. What had Graeme done to it?

“Trust me.”

Bill didn’t really trust Graeme after all of the near death accidents he had caused over the years, but he still obediently tucked the handset between his chin and shoulder, and picked up the phone. As he walked towards Tim and away from the plug, the cord began to stretch as though it was made of elastic, but without the tension. It was remarkable.

When he got to Tim, he sat down on the edge of the bed, and said into the phone, “How the bloody hell did you do that, Graeme?”

Graeme chuckled. “I’m afraid that’s confidential information, William.”

“Shut your face,” he said, but he was smiling. “Do you want to talk to Timbo or not?”

Tim immediately perked up, sitting up straighter in bed and reaching for the phone.

“Of course I do,” Graeme said.

“Fine.”

Bill held the phone out to Tim, who took it and held it to his ear. As he heard Gray’s voice, he began to smile, and that made Bill smile too.

“ Hello, Gray . . . I’ve been better,” he said, giggling until it obviously hurt his throat. “. . . Yeah . . . no . . . of c-course . . . no, he’s been gr-great, trust me . . . we will . . . I really miss you, Gray . . . Yeah, I will . . . bye.”

Tim, blinking back tears, held the phone back to Bill. “He w-wants to speak to you again.”

Bill took the phone, and gave Tim’s shoulder a quick squeeze. He held it to his ear. “Hello, again, Mr Garden.”

Graeme chuckled. “Thanks for looking after him, though.”

“It’s nothing.”

“But, seriously, thank you. Now . . . I need you to phone the GP surgery as soon as I hang up and ask for an emergency appointment. They should be able to squeeze you in sometime today, and, if they don’t, just get Timbo to start wailing until they give in. Then just get him to take the medication and he should start to feel better much more quickly. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Thanks, Gray. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Bill put the phone back on the handset, and it suddenly flew through the flat, slammed against the wall, and fell back into its original place on the unit. He looked at Tim, and started spluttering with laughter. Tim started laughing too, until he hurt his throat and began to sob instead.

Sighing, Bill got up and trailed after the phone, wondering why everything in his life was so bloody weird.

* * *

 

“You don’t understand, Mum, I need to go home,” Graeme cried, exasperated.

“But why?” His mother said. “You’ve only been here a day. What could possibly be so urgent that you need to leave your mother?”

Graeme sighed as he chose his next words carefully. “My . . . friend is really ill.”

“But your other friend seems more than competent enough to look after him.”

“Look, Mum,” he said, hardly able to believe he was about to say this. “The reason I’m so worried about Tim is because he’s my _boyfriend_.”

Mrs Garden’s eyes widened almost melodramatically. “I beg your pardon?”

Graeme was suddenly aware that he was shaking, quite violently. “He’s my boyfriend, Mum, and I care about him the same way you cared about Dad, because I love him, and I’m worried about him, and I need to be with him right now.”

His mother covered her mouth. She looked like she was going to be sick, and Graeme did too. Why the hell did he have to tell her?

“You’re homosexual?” She said, spitting the word out like it was a swearword. Graeme didn’t even bother to correct her and tell her he was actually bi.

 Nodding his head, Graeme went to speak, but she cut him off.

“Get out of my home,” she said, her voice eerily still.

“But, Mum—”

“No, Graeme,” she said, grabbing his wrist as he tried to touch her arm. “I don’t want to talk to you. Please leave, or I’ll call the police.”

“I, please, Mum, I—”

“Get away from me. So this is why you’ve never had a girlfriend.”

Graeme obeyed her, trying to blink back tears. But, as he was leaving the room, the last words she spoke to him caused him to break, sobbing silently as he trailed up the stairs to pack and leave his childhood home:

“How dare you say that your . . . feelings for Timothy are anything like my love for your father. I loved him. You don’t know what love is.”

* * *

 

At three o’clock that afternoon, Tim’s appointment was only half an hour away, and Bill decided that they needed to leave now to get there in time. Graeme’s computer told him it was only five degrees Celsius outside, so Bill made sure to wrap Tim up. He put a woolly hat on Tim’s sweaty head, and made him put on three jumpers and a pair of trousers over his pyjamas, as well as a scarf and thick gloves. When he was done, it made Tim look like he had suddenly put on weight, and Tim started giggling at his reflection.

Then they went outside into the crisp winter afternoon. The sky was a strange grey colour, and Bill wondered if it might snow. Bill helped Tim onto the back seat of the trandem, the seat he usually occupied, but they both knew Tim wasn’t up to steering the bike right now. They cycled slowly up to the doctors’ surgery, Bill’s chest hurting as he heard Tim sobbing into his hand behind him.

Once they arrived at the surgery, Bill helped Tim off of the trandem, and lead him inside. He sat Tim down, and, after checking in at reception, joined him. Tim was getting weaker and weaker, and had to lean against Bill as he sobbed, his eyes red and puffy.

“You’ll be all right, Timbo,” he said, and Tim smiled weakly, even though he didn’t look like he totally believed him.

Over an hour later, Tim’s name was called, and they were lead into a small consultation room. The doctor introduced himself as Doctor Phillips, and shook Tim and Bill’s hands.

“Well, what seems to be the problem?” he said, looking at Tim, who looked like he was trying to burrow inside his coat, his teeth chattering loudly.

“We think he’s got tonsillitis,” Bill said, and Tim nodded his head for a few seconds until he obviously hurt his throat and his eyes filled with tears.

Indeed, after a quick prod of Tim’s neck and a look down his throat, Phillips confirmed Graeme’s thought. “Yes, you’re right, this is a simple case of bacterial tonsillitis. A week’s worth of penicillin will clear this up nicely.”

Bill smiled at Tim, and gave his shoulder a squeeze. Phillips wrote Tim a prescription out, and sent them on their way. Once they were out of the surgery, Tim suddenly gave Bill a tight hug, wrapping his arms around him just as Bill had done to him in the night.

“Thanks for looking after me, Bill,” he said, smiling sweetly.

They pushed the trandem the short distance to the pharmacy, leaving it leaning against the wall as they went inside. They knew from past experience that nobody would want to steal what was considered such an ugly bike.

Bill led Tim up to the counter and handed the prescription to the chemist. Ten minutes and eight pounds later, they were leaving with a small paper bag containing a box of penicillin tablets, and Bill tucked it into his pocket as he got back onto the trandem. As they cycled back home, he was satisfied to hear that Tim wasn’t cry anymore.

* * *

 

Graeme took the train back down to London, and spent the whole time staring out of the window and trying to blink back tears. It was nine o’clock when he finally got back to the office, and it was getting dark. He shivered and wrapped his coat tighter around himself, and knocked on the door. After only a few seconds, Bill answered the door.

“Graybags,” Bill said, his voice so bright it made Graeme want to cry again. “What’re you doing here?”

He considered lying, but there was no point. Bill knew him too well. “My mum chucked me out.”

“What?”

“I told her about me and Tim. She took it badly.” His eyes started to sting, and he had to blink rapidly to hold the tears back.

Bill stood still and looked at him for a few seconds, before pulling him into a tight hug. Graeme felt the smaller man’s hands on his back, and wished he could stop feeling so tearful.

“ _Gray_ . . . what are you doing here?”

He looked up, and saw Tim stood some way behind Bill. He looked dreadful, with flushed cheeks and a sweaty forehead and a swollen jaw and his hair stuck flat to his head with sweat, and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a cape as he stood in the middle of the room, his legs wobbling like he had no energy. His voice was quiet and hoarse, but the look on his face told Graeme a lot more than his flat tone of voice.

“Graeme, what’s the matter?”

“Mum chucked me out,” he muttered.

Without speaking, Tim stepped forwards and joined the hug. Graeme could feel him shivering. Graeme and Bill moved their arms so it truly was a three way hug, and Graeme shifted so he could rest his chin on the top of Tim’s sweaty hair.

“The bitch!” Bill spat, and Graeme almost laughed.

“Why?”

“Because I came out to her, just to try and explain why I needed to come and see you.”

“You poor thing.” Tim said, sounding near tears.

“And, get this.” He said, his voice getting shriller, and he didn’t know why he was saying something that was so obviously going to upset him. “She said I don’t know what love is.”

Tim reached up and kissed his forehead. There were tears running down his flushed face. “You ruddy well do know what love is.” He said softly. “Because you love me. And I love you.”

“Yeah, just ignore her, mate, she’s talking crap.” Bill added, smiling.

Graeme sniffed, pulled away from his friends, and straightened up, taking a deep breath that sounded shuddery. He forced himself to smile. “But enough about me. How was your day?”

Even though he was near tears, the bemused look that Bill and Tim exchanged made him burst out laughing. It was so great to be back. Tim and Bill were everything to him, and, when he was with them, he finally felt accepted. He finally felt at peace. And, even though his mum had rejected him and Timbo was quite severely ill, and everything was just a bit crappy, he could think of nowhere he would rather be than with his two other Goodies.


End file.
